


Gimme Back My Bullets

by Tricksterfaerie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk John, Gen, Suicide Attempt, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:50:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tricksterfaerie/pseuds/Tricksterfaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby Singer never met Mary Winchester but John keeps a picture of her in his wallet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme Back My Bullets

Bobby Singer had never met Mary Winchester he’d only ever seen the picture of her that John kept folded in his wallet and took out whenever he go into a drunk crying jag.

It was taken in the summer of 1981 with a matte finish rounded corners and was slightly overexposed with a greenish tint. Mary was leaning against the Impala and it looked like it had almost been a candid shot and at the last minute she’d turned to the camera and started to speak.

One night after the boys had gone up to bed John held the wrinkled photograph lightly between his fingers as he took sips from the bottle of whatever strong cheap liquor he was drinking that night and wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“She was so beautiful. I wish you could have met her. She loved The Beatles. She had all their albums on vinyl. She was a terrible cook at first. Did I ever tell you that?”

He’d said laughing bitterly. “Burned almost every meal we ate for the first few months we were married but I always ate it.”

He lowered his head and nearly whispered, “I was so awful to her sometimes. We’d fight and I’d disappear for days.” He’d stared wistfully at the picture tracing the lines of her face gently before sobbing “I miss her so much. I have to find the evil bastard that killed her. I have to make it right.”

Bobby would sit next to him and listen and then help him to the couch to pass out. He wanted to tell him that revenge never got anybody anywhere and that he couldn’t keep going down this path but John Winchester was a stubborn man and Bobby knew he wouldn’t listen. 

Late one night in November 1990 Bobby found him behind a storage shed at the edge of the salvage yard leaning against an old Ford F-100 that was up on blocks. He had the picture out again and his .45 in his other hand, an empty bottle at his feet.

“What the hell?!” Bobby cried out as he watched the younger man bring the gun up toward his chin. 

John didn’t even flinch. “I can’t do it anymore Bobby. I can’t live without her. You take care of my boys, you tell ‘em I caught what got their Mama, don’t -”

“You stupid- Give me that!” Bobby had said and grabbed him by the shoulders. John was so far gone he stumbled forward and nearly dropped the gun. Bobby got it easily from his hand and noted that the safety was still on.

“C’mon you drunk idjit.” Bobby shoved the handgun into the back of his pants and got up under one of John’s arms using his hip to hold his weight and bent to scoop the wrinkled picture from the hood of the truck.

John let himself be led toward the house rambling between his sobs “I’m so sorry…I’ll get him, I promise…I’m so sorry, Mary…”

“Yeah, yeah, Saint Mary of Lawrence. May she someday get to rest in peace.” Bobby muttered back under his breath.

It wasn’t that Bobby didn’t understand John’s pain. Hell, he’d stabbed his own wife in the heart and the guilt ate at him every damn moment of every day. Bobby’d missed her so much in the beginning that the business end of a gun sure did start to look mighty friendly but John had two boys to look after.

Two boys who needed their father, more than they needed lessons in war and vengeance. Mary wouldn’t have wanted this for them. He’d never met the woman but no mother would want her sons learning how to aim a double barrel shotgun so the kickback wouldn’t kill your shoulder or wield a machete so it would sever the spinal cord on the first blow instead of hanging out with other kids and playing sports and joining school clubs.

How John could disappear for days, forget Sam’s birthday or yell at Dean when he asked if they could save up money for a camera, when that kid was only twelve Bobby could already see the hardened look behind his eyes that all Hunters had, Dean was starting to like this life a little too much and how John could be okay with that Bobby would never understand.

He never complained when John would leave the boys with him for days, sometimes even weeks at a time. He liked having them around. He liked hearing their laughter when they’d have wrestling matches in the living room and slinky competitions on the stairs. He didn’t even get angry the time they’d tied two empty cans to Rumsfeld’s tail and chased him around the lot.

On hot summer nights they played card games on the porch and he even rigged up a little old TV set with an antennae.

With the boys around Bobby learned to eat more than beef jerky and heated up cans of baked beans. He’d once overheard Sam whispering to Dean if he thought Uncle Bobby knew how to make fish sticks? So Bobby kept the fridge stocked with “kid friendly” food and bottles of root beer and apple juice.

Bobby taught Dean how to throw a baseball and helped Sam get a local library card and then showed him how to fix up an old bicycle so he could go into town. When he was old enough Dean developed real skill in mechanics and tinkered with the cars on the lot and even helped buy and sell used parts when people came by.

One year Sam asked Bobby for something he thought his Dad might like for Christmas and Bobby had to bite his tongue but didn’t say a word when the next time he saw them Dean was wearing the thing and never took it off, things were different between the boys after that and John never knew.

An then in the early summer of 1992 after John had left Dean and Sam with him for almost three weeks he showed up in the middle of the night.

“Bobby! Bobby open up!” John was banging loudly on the screen door with his fist and holding a bottle in his other hand.

Bobby looked at him through the screen. “John? What on God’s green earth are you doing hollering on my porch at three am?

“I’m here for the boys.” John slurred.

“Not in that condition you ain’t.” Bobby snorted.

John tried to push his way inside and Bobby let him in watching him sway and steady himself against the wall taking another long swig from the bottle. “I got a lead Bobby. I got a lead on the bastard.”

“You’re drunk man. Let it go for tonight.” Bobby reached out to steady him but John swung out spilling the contents of the bottle.

“No, no listen to me. I’ve been tracking weather patterns and it’s so much bigger than I thought. I have to get them someplace safe.”

“They’re safe here John. I can promise you that. Now just get some sleep and we can talk about it in the morning.”

Bobby tried to reach out again and this time the bottle slipped from John’s fingers and it shattered loudly as it hit the wood floor. Bobby grabbed John by his shirt and pushed him up against the wall.

“Now you listen to me you damn fool, I put up with a lot from you over the years but I’m not letting you behind the wheel with those kids tonight.”

“Get out of my way old man.” John pushed forward with all his strength. He hit the first step and turned when he heard Bobby cock the shotgun. 

“Damn you Singer. Damn you straight to Hell” John said softly. “I have to see this through. You have to understand that.” 

“Dammit John. This ain’t about you. This is about those boys. You wanna take ‘em I ain’t got no right right to stop ya but you’re sleeping it off tonight and you can go first thing in the morning and if you ever come back in this condition imma goddamn shoot you in the knees. You hearin’ me?” 

Bobby had woken up the next morning just after sunrise to the sound of footsteps in the hallway and then the front door opening and closing a few times. He could smell coffee brewing. He got out of bed, pulled a shirt over his head and looked out the window. He heard the screen door swing again and watched as John loaded bags into the trunk of the Impala. Dean and Sam shuffled slowly down the porch steps a few minutes later. Sam was still in flannel pajama pants and holding a pillow.

Dean opened the car door for his brother and close it after Sam climbed in and went back to sleep stretched out on the backseat. Dean then turned and looked up toward the second floor windows. Bobby knew the kid must have heard them last night. He could see it in the way he looked at the house like he wasn’t sure he’d be back. Bobby didn’t know if Dean could see him but he waved anyway. Dean just stared directly at him with that hard look in his eyes and then turned away when John reappeared holding a green thermos and said something Bobby couldn’t make out and got into the driver’s seat.

It would be almost 14 years to the day before Bobby saw them again.


End file.
